


These Bones of Mine

by bulletproofteacup



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Basically I watched Criminal Minds until my eyeballs fell out, Dark Stuff, F/M, FBIAnalyst!Zuko, HEA, Heartache, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Murder Mystery, Paranormal, Procedural, Urban Fantasy, Witch!Katara, Witchcraft, Wolf!Zuko, Zutara Week 2020, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletproofteacup/pseuds/bulletproofteacup
Summary: Zuko is many things--a single father, a wolf-shifter, and behavioral analyst tracking a serial killer. After a decade away from home, Katara is eager to keep her Gran's apothecary afloat and find some peace in her life. Neither are ready when a murder investigation draws them together. Zutara Week 2020.
Relationships: Aang/Toph Beifong, Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Mai (avatar)/other, Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37
Collections: Zutara Week 2020





	These Bones of Mine

These bones of mine house a goddess

and never again shall she be mistreated. 

_\--Soft Spoken Spells for Your Inner Witch--_

**P A R T O N E: R E U N I O N**

**  
**

In death, his fourth moon goddess is the most beautiful sacrifice yet. 

While she dying, she had not been beautiful. But then…not all can acknowledge their end peacefully, he knows. His own end, he knew, would not likely be beautiful. Not as beautiful as hers. 

The girl lies in the pool, face turned upward toward the sky. Searching for the moon, he thinks. But she is the sacrifice to the new moon and so the sky is dark tonight. It is especially fitting because her hair is as white as moonlight—she _is_ the moon tonight. Her hair has clouded around her in the pool, a celestial halo. The delicate scales of her tail glitter weakly in the torchlight. She is, through and through, a true moon goddess. 

If it had not been for a greater purpose, he would have kept this one. 

But her death, her glorious sacrifice, is for a greater cause. “Be at peace, moon goddess,” he tells her, “Your time here is done.” 

The man steps forward and lays the silver knife, still wet with her silver blood, over her belly. He arranges her carefully, bringing her hands over her body and closing her hands over the handle of the silver knife. He is careful with her wrists; her life blood is still slowly seeping out of the symbols he’d carved into her skin. 

He steps out of the pool and gathers his brown and red wool cloak. For a long moment, he watches the girl in the pool. He commits her image to memory. Then he turns and leaves. 

It is time to find the fifth moon goddess. 

****

**S I X M O N T H S L A T E R**

On Monday morning, Zuko arrives to pick up his daughter a full thirty minutes early. An occasion like this warrants every extra minute. When he pulls into the driveway, his daughter races out the door. There are two dark triangles poking out of her hair—actual, completely real wolf ears.

Zuko stops short.

Mai had texted him the night before, but just seeing them makes his eyes water with sentimental tears. “Daddy! Look!” Izumi cries, leaping into his arms. 

She’s ten years old and nearly as tall as her mother, but he still catches his baby and swings her around. His back twinges, but she is his first and only daughter—entirely worth every ache and pain. “You’re a wolf, Zumi!” he gushes, “Show me those canines, puppy.”

She obliges happily, grinning wolfishly. There are two sharp canines waiting there for him. Zuko whistles, “Look at those fangs!” 

“Does this mean I get to come to the Caldera this month?” she asks, hopping around and tugging on his jacket. 

He blinks. There is a bushy tail peeking out from his daughter’s knee-length skirt. There was a chance Izumi wouldn’t make it to the full moon before her first complete shift. “Let me talk to your mom, alright?” he says, “Go grab your stuff, puppy.” 

“Okay!” she chirps and runs back into the house, just barely avoiding a collision with her mother. “Sorry mommy!” she calls behind her. 

Mai has a wry smile on her face. They’d argued long and hard over what their daughter would shift into. Whether she’d be a wolf or lioness—the fact that she’d be a shifter had been clear from before her birth. “Looks like she’s a wolf, after all, Zuko.” She draws, rocking the bundle in her arms. 

“Looks like she does,” Zuko can’t help boasting, “Did you see her tail? She might be a wolf, but she’s going to have your coloring for sure.” 

He is distracted by a noise from the bundle in Mai’s arms. He skips up the stairs. “Is this the new one?” he asks, “Let me see her.”

Mai laughs and hands him the baby. “You’re just as bad as Izumi,” she says, “She’s been bouncing around since the first canine appeared.”

But Zuko barely hears her. He’s too busy examining the new baby. “That’s definitely Ruan-Jian’s offspring,” he says, “Poor thing.” 

Mai rolls her eyes. “Thank you.” She deadpans. 

Izumi reappears, backpack in hand. She hugs her mother and kisses the baby. “Bye!” she chirps. 

“Hold on there, young lady,” Zuko says, “Are you sure you want to go to school today? You’re looking awfully wolfy there.” 

She makes a face, “That’s what mom said, but I want to show Bumi—he’s already gotten his wings!” 

“I told her it was her choice.” Mai says from the doorway. 

“Okay then,” Zuko says, “But promise me you’ll me or your mom if you want to come home early.”

“I promise!” his daughter sings and skips to the car. 

Zuko turns to his ex-wife. “Congratulations on the baby,” he says, and means it, “She’s beautiful. Even if she’s part demon spawn.” 

Mai rolls her eyes, but she smiles. By now, they’ve been friends and co-parents longer than they were ever married—it is clear that Mai’s second marriage has made her incredibly happy. She hands him Izumi’s forgotten lunchbox, blinking back tears. “She’s so big.” Mai says, watching their daughter taking selfies in the backseat of Zuko’s squad car. 

“I know,” Zuko says, rubbing at an itch in one eye, “Yesterday she was crawling and now she’s already having her first shift.” 

But that’s too much sentimentality for the both of them, so they turn to business. “I’ll plan the party with her,” Mai says, “Can you make sure the family house is ready?” 

“Of course,” Zuko says, “We’ll have to get the invites out tonight. You’ll bring the asshole, of course?” 

“Of course,” she sniffs, “You’ll bring the lunatics?” 

“Yes.” he laughs. 

A child’s first shifting was almost sacred among animal shifters and for Izumi, it would be doubly important. After all, she was an alpha’s daughter. Her first shift would be the event of the year—there was a mind-blowing amount of planning that had to happen before the full moon was upon them. “She might want to invite a few friends from school.” Zuko adds, turning to leave. 

“Zuko.” Mai says and by the uncomfortable tone in her voice, he knows this is going to be awkward. 

He turns back to his ex-wife, one eye-brow quirked. “We had the puberty talk yesterday—both kinds,” she said, “Especially after…everything.” 

She gestures to their daughter, who is now taking toothy selfies. “It went fine, but afterward she asked me about you.”

“What do you mean?” he blinks, even though he knows exactly where this is going. 

“She wants to know if you’re going to have a baby,” she explains, then gestures to her own, “Like Ruan-Jian and I.”

Zuko sputters. Mai waits, one eyebrow quirked. “I’m not dating anyone.” he finally says. 

“You haven’t been on a single date since she came back to town,” she sighs, “You haven’t done anything but bury yourself in work—trust me, I’m not even married to you and I can tell.”

And with that, he clams up. “Thank you, Mai. I’ll send you the guest list tonight.”

He turns to go. “Zuko!” she snaps, “Just listen to me for once.” 

He pauses but doesn’t turn back. Mai isn’t the only one talking about his love life. Uncle had inquired—very indelicately—regarding whether Izumi would be receiving any other half-siblings. Suki, of course, tried to set him up with an increasing number of girlfriends. It is all well-meaning, but very, very annoying. 

“You deserve to be happy,” she finally says, “And if she’s it for you—then go for it. But you can’t just wait for everything to work out.” 

“I can’t do that,” he says, “Not after everything I put her through.”

Mai puts a hand on his shoulder. “You helped me make it right with Ruan-Jian—We’re here for you, no matter what.” 

He hugs his ex-wife and old friend. “Thank you.” 

Then he retreats very, very quickly and focuses on getting his daughter to school in one piece. 

~

He ducks under the tape, feeling the twinge in his lower back. Zuko drops curse words like a sailor and wisely, the younger technicians scatter before him. Sokka is waiting for him at the door, two silvers thermoses in hand. “I thought you were supposed to go on leave last week.” Zuko growls, but wisely accepts the thermos.  
He sniffs the coffee appreciatively. Suki added French vanilla flavoring this time. 

“They called me in,” Sokka explains, “You know what a third occurrence means.” 

Part of him wants to add a generous dose of Fire whiskey to the drink—maybe that will make today manageable—but he’s been trying to quite since Zumi complained he smelled like the homeless man that lived under the play structure at the park. He’d thrown out all the alcohol that night and started taking his daughter to a new park the next day. Eventually, he knows, his body will get the message too. 

“Serial killer.” He grunts. 

“Serial killer.” His partner agrees. 

They step inside the abandoned home. It doesn’t seem like anybody has lived here in years, aside from some homeless squatters and possibly some addicts, judging by the needles and bottles and condoms surrounding a mattress in what must have once been the living room. Sokka brings him up to speed, “Teens found her—the M.E says she’s been here for at least a few days, but it’s definitely the same type of killing, same victim profile.” 

They step into the backyard. 

Most of it is overgrown, but near the rear of the yard looks like what must have once been a beautiful pond. Now, there’s a woman lying in it. 

It’s not pretty. 

The water is cloudy with grime and old blood—her dress stark white against her ashy brown skin. Her wrists have been slit, marks carved in her arms and belly. And just like the first death, her hands are wrapped around a silver dagger. It is clear that the body has been carefully arranged. The dress and props—the way she’s been killed—it all indicates a pre-meditated murder. 

Beside him, Sokka swallows. Six months ago, they’d been standing in another grimy pool in another abandoned backyard. That first victim, though, had been his cousin and now they were standing in front of the third victim. Sokka shouldn’t have been on the case, but there was no denying that his partner was a talented detective and crack profiler. With his extensive connection to the Water Tribe community and wealth of knowledge, he was the best person to solve this. And most importantly, he had Zuko. This wasn’t their first rodeo. He put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “You alright there, buddy?”

Sokka nods. “I’m alright,” he says and they step closer to examine the body. “The body has been marked with runes—it’s his calling card.” 

“They’re different,” Zuko says, “Related, but the runes are different for each of the victims. At least the ones of the wrists.” 

He snaps on a pair of latex gloves. Carefully, he pulls the knife from the victim’s grasp. It is true silver, judging by way his entire body shudders at the contact. The latex protects him, but it is a thin and uncomfortable protection. “Solid silver,” he says, “A well-balanced, high quality knife.” 

He hands the knife off to one of the crime scene technicians, who bags it carefully. Zuko turns back to Sokka, who is still examining the runes on the victim’s wrists. 

“This is a crescent moon rune,” he says, “It’s Water Tribe and I bet the other runes are related to the moon.” 

“Moon runes?” Zuko asks. 

“A lot of our culture is moon related,” his partner says, “Definitely ritualistic. The Unsub has a deep knowledge of Water Tribe spiritual rituals—I don’t even know what all of these runes mean.” 

Zuko takes in the scene. It was clear from the first glance that this murder was ritualistic. The garish white dress, the silver knife, the runes. “We’re dealing with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Sokka stands up. “Not a young man,” he says, “This implies experience and knowledge. Certainly experience with a knife—we’ll be looking for someone who is a hunter or had some sort of combat training. He’s calm and composed—this was well planned out.” 

Zuko goes back to the previous point. “What do the runes mean?” 

Sokka rubs his forehead with his forearm—avoiding contaminating his gloves. “Katara will know. This is her wheelhouse—she spent a few years working on obscure Water Tribe witch craft. She would know.” 

They return to the local precinct, where a conference room has been provided for their team. Jin is already there, pulling out the files from the previous murders. She’s even got a pin-board up and pictures posted. Her minion, Lee, is already off retrieving more coffee. 

“Alright,” Sokka says when they arrive, “Let’s look at what we’ve got so far. Jin, I want to know how the victims are related and the timeline we’re looking at—we need to know when to expect another murder. Zuko, I need you to make a list of the runes and I’ll talk to Katara on my way home tonight."

Neither of them mention why Zuko can’t talk to her on his own. They’ve been as close as brothers for years, but she will always be a chasm between them. It is, of course, exactly what he deserves. But this isn’t what Zuko focuses on. Instead, he spend the rest of the day doing his job. 

Thus far, there are three murders fitting the same modus operandi. Water Tribe woman, ranging from early twenties to mid-thirties. They’d each lived alone and disappeared overnight. Their bodies had been discovered in abandoned homes or parks. 

“On average,” Jin reports, “They’re discovered anywhere from forty-eight hours to a week after their death. He holds them for a few days before murdering them.”

Sokka taps a pen against his lip, “Why hold them? What is waiting for?”

“The runes are important,” Zuko says, “We need to figure out how they factor into the murders.” 

Before Sokka has a chance to reply, his phone beeps. He glances at it and blanches. “Looks like you’ll need to talk to my sister for me, buddy,” he says, “Suki’s water broke.” 

They blink at him. Then Sokka grins like an idiot and stands. “I’m going to be a father.” 

“You have two other children,” Lee deadpans, “Why would you want more?”

Jin whacks him upside the head. “You’ll understand when you hit puberty, miscreant.” 

“I’m twenty-two.” the boy mutters. 

Zuko follows Sokka out the door. “You’ll lead the investigation while I’m gone,” his partner says, “Iroh says he’ll watch the kids tonight. Can you tell Katara? I’ll text you when the baby arrives and you can brief me on the runes.” 

He doesn’t have a chance to argue. 

~

On Mondays, the store opens at 10 AM, an hour later than usual. Gran-gran had often spent the early part of the morning playing Pai Sho with friends in the back. Yue had kept the same schedule and based on the box of receipts she’d found in the back, had used the time to visit the massage parlor across the street. Katara can’t bring herself to change this part of the schedule, so she uses this time to visit both Gran and Yue. 

It gives her a chance to clean up the family plot, dispose of wilted flowers, and make sure each headstone is clean and visible. She leaves a flower at each grave—five flowers for five graves. She doesn’t have much to say to Yue—they weren’t close, even as children. But she’s gotten into the habit of summarizing her week for Gran and mom. It is unhealthy, she knows, to linger over the dead, but sometimes it feels like the dead are better company than the living. 

~

When she returns to the apothecary, there’s another flier taped to the shop door. It is a crude drawing of a shirtless mermaid and caveman dressed in Water Tribe furs. _Savages not welcome_ , it reads. Katara rips it down and unlocks the door. She crumples it up and throws it in the waste basket. No time for close minded racism, she tells herself. Then she begins her day.

Monday tended to be the day with the least traffic, so it was potions day. She’d started with a decent sized batch of cold draught. This time of the year, allergies and changing seasons brought in enough folk searching for a remedy. Part of her smiles and remembers Monday brewing sessions with Gran-gran when she was in college. Before Katara had fallen apart, before Gran’s cancer came back, before Zuko had…

She banishes the thoughts quickly. Best not to go down rabbit holes, she’d learned. Thinking about him—thinking about anything from that time could bring back the crippling grief. Gran-gran had been gone a very long time and Zuko had been banished from her life for even longer. She focuses on her work and allows herself to be caught up in rustle and bustle of the Moon Flower Apothecary. 

While the cold draught bubbled in the corner, red and peppery, she worked on the ever-popular love potion. It wasn’t a real love potion—Katara couldn’t sell those in good conscience—but it was a very effective _notice-me_ draught. Just enough to catch the eye of a certain someone; the rest, she warned, was up to chemistry. It was a spring yellow color and smelled of happiness and sunshine. The base was simple enough, dandelion flowers, vanilla essence, virgin tears cried in happiness, and just a handful of rose petals. It didn’t need to be watched, just noticed, and stirred once on the hour for four hours. Once she’d set the pot bubbling on the table—opposite of the cold draught because the potions were affected if they rested too closely together—she started on the soothing creams. They were for muscle aches and rheumatism and pain—perfect for the elderly clientele that frequented the apothecary. This was hardest because it reminded her most of Gran-gran. 

Katara could remember making batches as a young girl—she’d always excelled at this specific skill and her time with the White Lotus had only improved her ability. She wished that she could share this batch with her gran; it would have been much more effective than the weak lotion she’d made as an adolescent. This one she imbued with bergamot and citrus. They didn’t affect the subtle magic, but they smelled nice. Unsurprisingly, this was her best-selling concoction. 

She closed the shop for lunch at 12 and climbed upstairs to the little two-bedroom apartment. Sokka, of course, had offered the guest bedroom when she’d moved back to down. She’d stayed there for a few weeks while the detectives had picked over Yue’s things. Part of her had wanted to preserve her cousin’s things, part of her had been too afraid to see the apartment that had been the last place her gran had lived—to trespass where many dead women had walked felt wrong. Irreverent. But it turned out that Katara belonged among Suki and Sokka’s family even less.

Sure, they loved her—she was family, after all. But she stuck out in more ways than one. For one thing, all of her friends were parents. In the long years she’d been away, they’d changed and grown together. She hadn’t been there for the weddings or the babies or the inevitability of life—the camping trips and inside jokes and shared memories. Katara had been with the White Lotus, training and meditating and fighting to preserve balance in the world for ten long years. She’d infiltrated anarchist cells, rescued children from sex-traffickers, and exercised spirits whenever humanity stepped over the boundaries. How could she relate to husbands or wives or jobs or children? And perhaps, more pressingly, Zuko Huo was an integral part of their life and ten years hadn’t been enough—a hundred years would not be enough time to forgive him for the mess that had changed her life. 

And so she’d joined the spirits of the dead and moved into the apartment that she’d grown up in. 

But this is not what she thinks of on that particular Monday. Instead, she contemplates her recipe book over noodles. A single woman had to have hobbies and of late, she’d been considering ways to imbue the properties of certain potions into her food. What if you could back a cake with subtle elements of a Notice-Me potion? Or could you make a stew with enough cold draught in it to banish a cold upon it’s onset? Without choking on the slimy peppery potion? Or, she considered, could you bake fertility charms into wedding cakes? Or peace into tea? 

These thoughts preoccupy her through the afternoon, even as she finishes her brewing and bottles her potions. Customers come in and out in a steady stream, old ladies and schoolgirls and athletes and tourists. The sun winds it’s way across the sky and begins to sink. The store won’t close until just after dark, but it doesn’t keep her from enjoying the way the apothecary glows red and gold in the dying light. It’s ethereal and warm and it makes her think of summer evenings spent with Gran on the balcony upstairs. Her grandmother’s ghost doesn’t make her sad at this time. Instead, it almost feels like the sunlight is the manifestation of the love she’d left behind. It feels like her embrace. Katara restocks the potions display with a smile on her face, a tear in her eye, and tries to think of a flavor of swiss roll that her gran would have loved. 

She doesn’t notice the customer until he clears his throat. “Hi there.” He says. 

Katara jumps out of her skin and nearly drops an armful of Cold Draught with a muffled curse. She fumbles as she turns, losing her grip on one of the delicate little jars. A hand reaches out and catches it—a huge hand. The jar is swallowed up in his grip and when she looks up—she nearly drops the rest of the jars. 

Zuko Huo blinks down at her. 

It takes a moment to recognize him—she’d seen him at the funeral, of course, but that had been from a distance on a bleary, awful day. She’d been jet-lagged and caught up comforting Yue’s father. Now, he’s clear as daylight. He’s taller than she remembered and bigger. It made sense, given that he’d taken over the Huo pack from his Uncle. It certainly reflected in his clothing as well—he wore tailored trousers and a well-fitted leather jacket. Despite the bags under his eyes and the five o’clock shadow on his jawline, he looked good. Delicious, even. Her stomach drops because he’s so beautiful. 

“Long time no see, Katara.” He says, eyes bright. 

And just like that, it was like ten years had not passed. The old anger and hurt bubbled up and Katara tried, for all that she was worth, to focus on the cool class in her arms. _I am smooth and unaffected,_ she tells herself, _I am water flowing quietly and peacefully._

“Why are you here?” she snaps without one iota of calm. 

He blinks. She glowers at him from behind the counter. Very slowly, he sets the jar of Cold Draught back onto the counter and then steps out of her space. Katara hadn’t even realized he was standing so close that she could smell the leather of his coat, the lingering scent of his unfamiliar cologne—the quintessentially wolfy smell that was Zuko Huo. 

It only serves to further ignite her anger. 

She repeats her question. “Why are you here?” 

He sighs, as if he’d been hoping for some sort of welcome. Her unspoken hostility makes it very clear, very quickly that they are not old friends. She imagines breaking a jar of Cold Draught over his head. “I’m here on official business,” he says, “Sokka would have come, but there was a minor emergency—Suki is having the baby.” 

She blinks. “The baby!” she cries, then sets the rest of her jars down, “I’m supposed to watch the children when they go to the hospital!” 

“Calm down,” Zuko says with a smile and two palms raised, “My Uncle is with them—he’ll cover for you until you can answer my questions. It shouldn’t take too much of your time, Tara.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, “I haven’t seen you in ten years—we are not friends, Special Agent Huo.” 

A jar on the counter cracks audibly. Katara winces. She’s accidentally frozen each of the jars solid, through and through, and worse, admitted that she knew enough about his life to know his very specific job title. Zuko looks like he wants to comment, but very wisely says nothing. The schoolgirls in the corner, however, stare. She sighs. “What do you need?” 

“It’s a sensitive matter,” he explains, the lowers his voice, “Too graphic for the shop counter.” 

He glances at the schoolgirls. They’re alternating between giggling at him and pouring over the incense table. “You close soon, right?” 

“I close in ten minutes,” she replies coolly, “You can wait upstairs.” 

He nods, then stares at her like an idiot. She blinks at him, then scowls. “You remember where the stairs are, right?” 

“I do,” he says, then adds, “I’m just happy to see you.” 

“You’re the only one.” She snaps and turns away. 

~

Twenty minutes later, she climbs the stairs to her apartment with a heavy heart. Gran-gran would have swatted her behind the ears if she’d seen her behavior. Katara was so angry at him—even after all this time, but he’d been polite and friendly. He wasn’t the man she’d loved all those years ago. She takes a deep breath and tries not to be the girl he’d hurt. 

She finds him perched on her couch. It is a vey tidy leather seat and Zuko, ironically, looks like a giant. At any rate, he looks uncomfortable. 

“Would you like tea?” she asks, only because knows Gran-gran would have swatted her from beyond the grave if she didn’t offer. 

“Yes.” he says and then, “Thank you.” 

While the kettle boils, she arranges lavender cookies on a plate. She’d known that eventually her path would cross his eventually, but this is perhaps, the least predictable way. “How is your family?” she asks from the kitchen, striving for civility. 

She knows he’ll hear her—or at least his wolf ears will. “They’re good. Izumi’s first shift will be this month.” He says. 

Katara has met her of course. The girl was frequently at Sokka and Suki’s house. Even six months later, Katara couldn’t sort out her feeling. Izumi’s existence had ruined her life, but somehow Zuko’s daughter was perhaps the most precious creature she’d ever come across. “Oh?” Katara says, feigning nonchalance, “How old is she now?” 

“She just turned ten,” Zuko gushes, “Her ears appeared this weekend—she’s going to be a wolf.” 

“That’s lovely.” She says, brewing the earl grey. 

Zuko, of course, doesn’t need much prompting to talk about his only child and gladly chatters while she arranges the tea tray. Not for the first time, she is struck by the absurdity of this. Katara is almost grateful when the tea is served. “What do you need my help for?” she says, interrupting a cheerful description of his ex-wife’s new baby. 

They discuss the case for some time. It doesn’t take long, given that they are both familiar with Yue’s death. For a moment, Katara feels the specter of her cousin. She reminds herself to light her warding candles before leaving that night. She had to encourage the spirits to move on, even if her own grief encouraged them to linger. 

“How can I help your case?” she asks Zuko. 

He opens a manila envelope. “We need you to identify these runes. We think they may help us determine a motive.” 

“I see.” She says, perusing the photos. 

"They're quite graphic." he apologizes.

She’s seen death before, of course. Her time with the White Lotus had included a lot more than training. But he doesn't know that. Carefully, she examines the runes. “These are moon runes,” she explains and then point to the one in her hands, “Waning Crescent.” 

Zuko is taking notes in a small notebook. It is both adorable and annoying. She continues. “Yue’s killer carved the symbol for New Moon into her wrists, but this one is Waning—the crescent is appearing from left to right,” she explains, “The first victim had a Waxing Crescent because the crescent is appearing from right to left.” 

She pulls her rune book out of the shelf and flips through it. It takes a few minutes, but once she finds the page, she sets it on the low coffee table. “Take that,” she says, “It will help you.” 

The runes carved on torso are the same for each victim. At the base of the throat, double circles with punctures represent life. Beneath it, carved into the upper chest, an upside-down smile with two punctures below it represents blood. And finally, carved into the belly, a swirl with two punctures represented energy. Dread begins to creep into her veins. “Your killer is trying to summon something,” she says finally, feeling dread grow in her belly, “he or she is quite serious. You’re not dealing with your average murderer.” 

“What do you mean?” Zuko asks, still taking notes. 

Katara sets the last photo down carefully. “How much do you know about magic?” she asks.

He shrugs. “As much as anyone, I suppose.” 

Which meant nearly nothing. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay,” she says, “Then you know that a spell requires a sacrifice—all magic relies upon that balance. You can’t get without giving.” 

He nods and she continues. “Many spells are powered by energy, but every witch and wizard has a finite amount that they can sacrifice at any time. Ask for too much and a witch might sacrifice their life.”

She gestures to the bundles of herbs drying near the balcony doors. “Energy can be taken from nature. Plants and herbs can often power smaller magics. For example, I use them to brew my potions and my simple remedies.”

“However,” Katara continues, “I can also use living things to power my spells.” 

“Dark magic.” Zuko nods. 

“No,” she shakes her head, “Black magic.” 

“A stronger spell requires a stronger sacrifice. Blood and flesh can be willingly sacrificed from your body, but you can also take it from animals and people. There is nothing stronger than the blood of innocents—than pain and suffering,” she explains, “Your killer is trying to summon something, and they mean business—killing innocent women and sacrificing them to the moon is a scary level of black magic.” 

“What do you mean?” Zuko asks, “Sacrificed to the moon?” 

Katara swallows. “The runes spell out the intention. Life and blood are sacrificed for energy. The moon runes imply that the sacrifice is to the moon—these Water Tribe women were sacrificed in tribute to the moon and they won’t be the last.” 

Zuko stares at her. 

“There are eight moon phases,” she whispers, “He’s going to need five more victims.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. This fic was born from my desire to write something so bat-shit crazy that Zutara Week Mods would have to post it. Alas, I have once again violated their desire to post only SFW art/writing and so they'll never repost this on tumblr. Well screw that; this fic has taken on a life of it's own. We can still enjoy the ride!
> 
> This fic is powered by comments and kudos. And harassment, since I'm going to need a ton if I'm ever going to finish this! Thank you!


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